


“We have normality. I repeat, we have normality. Anything you still can’t cope with is therefore your own problem.”

by notjustmom



Series: Towel Day 2018 [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Douglas Adams, Gen, M/M, Towel Day 2018, yet another return story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 00:09:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14862956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: yes... another return story





	1. Chapter 1

"Another one?" John groaned as he lifted the sheet from the latest victim of a spree killer they'd been after for two months now.

Greg sighed and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. John looked up at his friend and wondered how Lestrade had any hair left. The last two years had been rough on all of them, but Greg hadn't ever stopped blaming himself for his role in Sherlock's leap from Bart's roof. They had never spoken of it, save for one drunken night when John had made them dinner at Baker Street, then put on a match and they proceeded to go through a fifth of some rather good scotch that he'd found buried deep in the back of a cupboard. A gift? Perhaps a payment for a case - he didn't know. But he didn't care where it had come from. He helped Greg to the couch before he fell asleep in Sher- the chair that had been Sherlock's and again, John wondered that he was still at Baker Street - and tucked a throw around his friend.

"I'm sorry, John."

"What fer?"

"For Sh- Sherlock. It was my fault. If I hadn't - if - I let him think - I thought - jus' sorry -"

"Shh. Just sleep, mate."

 

"John?" Greg was looking at him a bit oddly.

"Sorry - uhm, yeah, same MO -" He let the sheet fall back over the young woman and swore as he heard the first rumblings of another summer storm. "You get enough photos, Phil? We're gonna have to move her - any evidence -" He squinted as a man, or what was left of a man knelt down near the body and coughed. "Excuse me - this is an active crime scene until the rain -" 

"I'm well aware of what it is, and equally aware of how all of you have bungled this - ahhhhhhhchoooooo - pardon me, case." The man pulled a ratty handkerchief from his pocket and turned away from the body so he could blow his nose. John watched him stand and he nearly sat down in a puddle. He would know that back anywhere, no matter how sloped his posture, or how overly thin he had become during his absence - the man turned back again and pulled the sheet back fully exposing the corpse to the elements, then began pacing, he had a limp, his right hand in bandages, and his voice was barely above a whisper, but it was unmistakable, it could only be, but that was imposs -. "What are you missing, John? Observe. Look, John. What is common in all these cases, besides how they are redressed, yes - look at the shoes - the shoes, John - and the way he has styled her hair - sorry..." He walked away again to sneeze.

"John?" Lestrade had finally moved closer to John and was carefully keeping an eye on the interloper who had crashed his crime scene. "It can't be. Him. I saw - I saw -"

"What? You saw a body covered by a sheet, Molly convinced us we wouldn't want to see him, that he was -" John looked up to the darkening skies as the rain began to fall in sheets. Lestrade swore and instructed his team to move the body, and they left the scene in a rush, sirens blaring, lights flashing for no reason at all, other than to get out of the rain faster. John walked over to the man who had not even bothered to find any form of shelter, was simply standing in the rain, eyes closed to the sky, one arm down at his side, the other - the other held awkwardly against his chest, as if protecting it, protecting himself from whatever was coming next.

"If you don't have a place to stay, come ho-" He had nearly said home. "Come back to my flat, I can make us tea, and I - I have clothes that might fit you - I have - had a friend, nearly your same size -"

The man shook his head at the sky. "I - can't."

"Please, just come back with me, you are already -"

"What is your diagnosis, John?" The voice was a bit stronger, but hoarse, and John could hear the rattle in his chest as he turned away to cough.

John moved closer and wrapped his arm around the shivering man. "Walking pneumonia, dislocated shoulder, badly healed ankle fracture - ribs?" His breath caught as he felt the man collapse against him. "Sherlock? Please - let me take you -"

"No hospital, please, John. I can't - can you ever - god, I'm so sorry, I don't deserve..." The words faded as Sherlock nearly fell to his knees. John caught him in his arms and guided them both to the pavement. Sherlock looked up into John's eyes, and John was grateful for the rain that hid the tears that he had been holding in for more than two years. Though Sherlock saw, of course he did. He gingerly raised his non-bandaged hand and touched John's face. "So sorry, John." John shook his head and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 

"I'm going to call - uhm - Sally, to come pick us up - no cab will take us like this, and -"

"No British Government." Sherlock rasped out. "Sally? You mean Donov -" another cough made him curl up tightly into himself and John carefully wrapped his arms a bit tighter around him.

"Yeah, she's not so bad..." John rummaged in his pocket and hit Donovan's number. "Hey Sally - yeah, can you come pick me up, us up?"

"Is it really him? Greg told me - but - yeah, give me two minutes, sit tight, John." 

John replaced his phone in his pocket and looked down into the eyes he never thought to see again, they were greyer than he remembered, there was just too much, too much he could imagine, too much he could see. "You know I would have followed you anywhere, Sherlock, don't you know that?" He removed the soaked hood from his friends's head and tried to run his fingers through the tangled, matted curls. "I'm so so sorry, Sherlock."

"Why -" Sherlock whispered back. "Why are you sorry, John?"

"You didn't know, you didn't - all you had to do was ask me - but you didn't know I'd give up everything for you."

"Shhhhh." Sherlock placed a trembling finger on John's lips. "No. John. It was my fault, all my fault, I needed to fix it, if something had happened to you -" He shook his head and closed his eyes as he heard the sirens from Sally's panda car.

"Bloody hell. You two..." Sally shook her head at them, then called Lestrade. "Yeah, Boss, I'm taking them back to Baker Street and make sure they are settled before I head home... yep, everything's back to normal, I'm sure he'll solve the case on the way... see you tomorrow. Come on you two." She bent down and took Sherlock into her arms, and watched to make sure John was getting to his feet. "Good to see you, Holmes. Let's get you home, hmm?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank you, Sally. I think I can manage from here."

"Watson. You have been up for two days straight. I told the DI that I'd make sure you two made it home safely and that's what I'm gonna do." She draped her arm gently around Sherlock's waist and whispered, "Just lean on me, hmm? We'll go slow, Holmes, just breathe for me, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded and leaned into her, allowing her to bear most of his weight as they slowly walked up the steps. "Unexpected, Donovan, but thank you?"

"Yeah, well, I, uhm, I had a good long time to think about things when you were gone. A suspension does that - and I came to understand a few things, and I hope one day, you will forgive me - I -"

"Nothing to forgive, Donovan." Sherlock sighed as she pushed the door open and he limped into 221B for the first time in over two years. He turned to look at John in surprise. "You. Stayed. Here?"

"Of course I did. Couldn't leave." John went into the kitchen to put on the kettle. Then stopped and rubbed his face. "I don't know why I - tea just seems like something that I should do. Dead friend shows up at a crime scene, not dead. Tea, of course, seems obligatory."

"John. Do you want me to stay?" Sally held onto Sherlock as she felt him begin to fade. "I know I'm probably not the best person to help, but you two really need to get into dry clothes."

"No, I'll be, we'll be fine. Thank you, Sally." He walked over to Sherlock and gently took him into his arms. "Really, it is appreciated. Let Greg know he can stop by in a couple of days -"

Sherlock groaned and tried unsuccessfully to escape from John's arms. "No. You need to text him. NOW. I know, I know - he will do it again if we don't stop him - he has a schedule, John, and I need to -"

"Shhh. I'll tell him to expect your text, John. Sherlock, you just got home, you need to get cleaned up and eat something, and get some rest."

"The case, John -"

Sally laughed and shook her head. "Some things never change do they. Good to have you back, Holmes." She nodded to John and left the flat, closing the door quietly behind her.

"She's right, you know." John muttered. "We need to get you out of these clothes and into a bath, does that sound okay? I promise, I'll text Greg as soon as we are cleaned up, okay?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes but after a moment finally nodded. "John - there are things - my time away - it wasn't - altogether pleasant. I understand if you would rather not see - I can do this on my own."

John shook his head. "You aren't alone anymore, Sherlock, you don't have to do this on your own any longer. I promise you, no matter what happened to you, I'm not going to leave you, do you understand me?"

"John?" 

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Thank you."

"I haven't done anything."

"You brought me home, John. You let me come home, and that is more than I deserve, more than I ever hoped for."

John brushed a curl from Sherlock's eyes, then wiped a tear from his weather beaten face. "Sherlock. Let's just get you out of these clothes and into a bath, hmm? We'll talk later, but don't you know how very glad I am to see you again?"

Sherlock bit his lip and winced. "I wasn't sure, John. I didn't know if - you - if you even remembered me."

"Sherlock. You honestly thought I could forget you? Oh, love. No. Not ever could you be forgotten, least of all by me. Come on. Into the bathroom with you. I still have some of those bubbles you liked."

"Oh, John. You do love me."

"Obviously, you idiot."


	3. Chapter 3

"How did you know about the case?" John asked casually as he carefully washed Sherlock's shoulders, trying not to react to the evidence of what his friend had been through during his time away.

"Police scanner. Wiggins." Sherlock closed his eyes and flinched as John hit a raw area. 

"Sorry."

"I've been back a couple of weeks. You have the right to know. I know you have questions, John, I came back, because the last thread of Moriarty's web had returned to -" He sighed as John began to gently wash his hair, cradling his head in his hand, as he poured cup after cup of water over the tangled mess. 

"Just tell me if it's too much."

"Mmmm... no, it's... mmmm. When I got back, I learned that Mycroft's people had already taken care of Moran, but I wasn't sure - I didn't know how to, I wasn't sure if I had anywhere, if you had moved on, and I was afraid to find out - so I went to Wiggins." He heard John's breath catch for the briefest of moments, and his fingers stilled, then continued as he went on. "I didn't use, John. There were days when I wanted to, when everything hurt, and I couldn't sleep - but he made sure I didn't. I know you don't have any reason to trust me, but -"

"Sherlock, you don't have to -." 

"He kept telling me to go home to you, to let you know - that - ohhhh, John." John began working the shampoo into Sherlock's hair, trying to work the curls free from the snarls. 

"I'm sorry if I pull too hard."

"No, it's fine." Sherlock leaned back further into John's hands and closed his eyes. "Why didn't you leave?"

"Oddly enough, I've been asking myself that same question lately. Part of it was, just habit, I suppose, and I couldn't do it to Mrs. Hudson - she's out of town, by the way, at her sister's -"

"John." Sherlock groaned quietly as he sat up and turned to look at him.

John met Sherlock's exhausted but penetrating gaze. "Honestly?" Sherlock nodded, as he laid a trembling hand over John's. "I pretended you were away on a case, everything is as it was, the fridge is a bit cleaner, perhaps, but, essentially, I've changed nothing, your things are where you left them, your clothes are still hanging in your wardrobe. I guess, deep down, I couldn't quite believe that you were never coming back, even after I buried -." He bit his lip as Sherlock lifted his hand to his cheek and held it there for a long moment, then moved it to his lips, and pressed a dry, trembling kiss to his palm. "Sherlock -"

"I'm here, John. I wanted to tell you, somehow, but I wasn't sure if I was going to make it back, there were days when I just wanted to stop, and call you, even just to hear your idiotic voice mail message, I wanted to tell you I was trying to get home to you. But, I left so you would be safe, I couldn't risk - will you ever find a way to forgive me?"

John blinked back tears as he held Sherlock's face in both hands. "Tell me, love, what it is you need to be forgiven for? You came back. You could have so easily disappeared into the darker parts of this city, and maybe once in a while, you'd show yourself, and I'd catch a glimpse of you, and wonder if I'd lost my mind, thinking I was seeing things -" John inched forward and gingerly kissed Sherlock's forehead. "You came home to me, Sherlock. There is nothing to forgive." He looked into his friend's eyes and shook his head as tears streamed unchecked, down the sharp cheekbones. "Now, l'm going to rinse your hair, then get you out of the water, see what we have that will fit you, feed you up a bit, and then you can tell me how you solved the case."


End file.
